When In Doubt, Pass The Buck

Zoey woke up last Thursday morning with a fever. The next morning, the fever had gone but a cough and raspy voice showed up in its place. On Saturday, we took her to the doctor and he informed us, "Just a virus. Keep doing what you're doing." I can't tell you how many times we've spent $15 just to have a doctor tell us, "Keep doing what you're doing." I could've put myself through medical school with that money. Of course, judging by my doctor's response, one might think I already had.

Sunday morning rolled around and her fever made an encore appearance, so I ruled out school for Monday. See, I'm one of those parents that keeps his kid home from school if she's sick (had a fever in the previous twenty-four hours, sneezing, etc.). I like to think I'm in the majority, but I'm not so sure. I have an acquaintance that has sent her child to daycare with pinkeye.

Zoey was supposed to bring the snacks to school on Monday. Since I'm a caring parent head case, I emailed her teachers and offered to meet one of them and give her the snacks on Sunday. I was told there was an emergency snack for such an occasion (is it behind glass?) and I could just bring my snack on Wednesday and my snack would become the new emergency snack.

By Tuesday, Zoey was doing much better (no fever since Sunday, only coughing once ever two hours or so). As she put it, "The frog jumped out of my throat! I can go to school!" Plus, she needed to go back to school. We were really beginning to butt heads. She was questioning everything I told her (when she wasn't completely ignoring me) and I was putting her in time out for every little thing she did. It's hard to say which one of us was looking forward to school more.

It's time to let you in on another one of my dirty little secrets: because I am neurotic and anal-retentive, I need a certain amount of structure in my life. And if my routine gets off for a few days, I'm screwed. Needless to say, yesterday, I was lost.

Normally, I can get Zoey ready and off to school blindfolded (me, not her). Yesterday, I didn't even seem to know what a backpack was. It's not like it's that difficult; I have an hour to make sure she finishes her breakfast, brushes her teeth, washes up, goes to the potty, gets dressed, and finds something for Show And Tell. Not exactly rocket science. But because I hadn't done it for a few days, it was like I was doing it for the first time. Plus, as an added bonus, I had to get the snack together and write this month's tuition check.

God help me the week after Christmas break.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I got everyone together and we were heading out the door when Zoey noticed I was carrying bags of juice and snack.

Zoey: Am I taking snack to school today?
Me: Yes.
Zoey: Oh good! I get to be the Snack Leader!

In Zoey's class, when it's your turn to bring the snack, you're the Snack Leader that day. I don't know what duties this honor entails, but I do know allowing my daughter to be leader of anything is like giving the fox the keys to the henhouse.

Me: Well, Zoey, it's not the snack per se... I think it's for a party.

We were running late, my mind was already shot, and I did not want to deal with a tantrum on the front porch, so I lied. I know, no Father of the Year Award for me.

She didn't buy it anyway.

Zoey: You mean I'm not the Snack Leader?

She was beginning to cry.

Me: Ask Ms. Smith when you get to school.

When in doubt, pass the buck. All I know is I had a peaceful drive to school. Not too sure about Ms. Smith's morning, though.

GHS: 2